


The Taming

by Maxamillion



Series: Sandor and Seera [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4864226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxamillion/pseuds/Maxamillion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the long winter, The Hound is working as a mercenary/guide to the South for a young mother and her two children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taming

“Are you a monster?” The small girl’s face peered up at his towering height with a skeptical expression.

“Some people think so,” he admitted with a growl. She took a step back, but continued to stare at him. The stare became bolder.

“My mother says there’s no such thing as monsters,” she declared definitively.

He looked over at the girl’s hastily approaching mother and raised his eyebrow. “Now why would she go and say something daft like that?” Clearly the woman had been listening to the exchange despite the fact that she had been on the other side of the yard helping her son clamber up onto his pony.

“Because, Master Clegane, there is no need to cause unnecessary fear.” She was fiery, this one, you could hear it in her voice.

“Unnecessary? You know full well you’re lying to them. You should be teaching your children what’s out there so they know how to protect themselves from those monsters.” He thought back on all the horrors he had witnessed in his life, both before the long Winter and during it.

The woman, Seera was her name, gave him a long look, unafraid of his size, his sword, his face. “Do you have any children Master Clegane?” He snorted derisively and shook his head no. “Then you have no idea how hard it is…especially putting them to bed at night when they know and fear as much as they do. Please spare me the parenting advice.” She grabbed the little girl, Cady, by the hand and tugged her away to their horse.

Sandor Clegane was ruing the acceptance of this job. His employer, the children’s paternal grandmother, a stuffy old hag from the Hightower clan, had not explained how young the children were—seven and four it turned out—and she had said little about their mother. Clegane had mistakenly assumed they would be older, more capable. And more genteel: docile lapdogs who would heed his directions and shut up during the weeks-long trip. The idea of escorting this feisty woman and her brats all the way South to Oldtown through treacherous roads teeming with brigands was giving him a sour stomach. Or perhaps it was just the results of too much bad wine last night in that flea-infested inn.

He had done the job and similar countless times in the past few years. He was finished with serving a master other than himself—that cunt Joffrey had cured him of that—and he needed easy pay that took advantage of his size and skills. Few people in Oldtown had heard of him, and he appreciated the anonymity from his past, but he quickly developed a reputation: the kind of reputation that kept stupid fuckers away and kept rich people with security needs in touch. He didn’t exactly fit in, but he was satisfied. The North was no place to live even in the receding Winter; the place was in chaos.

He mounted his horse and trotted out of the yard with no further word to the woman and her children, but he heard hooves following. They knew they had no choice. 

*****

“Your boy can’t ride,” he complained. Seera gave him a sharp look.

“He’s doing fine,” she responded coldly.

He twisted around to glare at the small boy struggling to keep up with them. Seera held the younger child before her on her mount. “Bullshit,” he stated plainly. She winced noticeably at his language. He ignored it. “He’ll not keep up with us at this rate, and we need to make good time if we’re ever going to make it to the next inn. You don’t want to be sleeping at the roadside at this point.”

“What exactly do you suggest? He doesn’t have much experience…we haven’t had the chance since his father left. And his legs are too short to ride a bigger horse.”

He stopped his horse, a towering bay with wild eyes. Seera halted her horse as well. “Boy!” he yelled, “Come here!” When Jon stopped, the frustrated Clegane pulled him off the pony and began repositioning packs, strapping much of his own gear onto the pony. Seera watched silently, while Cady began singing one of her songs (she often sang and it was beginning to drive him crazy). He then placed the visibly intimidated Jon upon the big bay, lifting him as easily as if he had been a doll, and climbed up behind him. The boy let a small, shy smile form on his lips, but Clegane didn’t see it. His mother did and made a mental note. They proceeded at a much faster pace from that point on, and finally Cady stopped her chirping.

*****

That night they stopped at a small farmstead that doubled as an inn. There was barely enough beds for them in a converted outbuilding, but the farmer and his wife were pleasant, seemingly trustworthy folk. They clearly recognized the big man from previous journeys, so Seera relaxed somewhat as they sat down to a simple, but watery, stew for dinner. She noticeably bristled at his table manners but said nothing. 

“Why did that man call you the Hound?” Jon asked quietly.

“I can think of a few reasons,” Seera muttered under her breath. Clegane chose to ignore her.

“Lots of reasons,” he said noncommittally.

“Like what?”

He had forgotten how inquisitive and talkative children were. This job was proving eye-opening. He regarded the boy from under his heavy brow, considering how much to tell him. “It’s an old name I earned a long time ago,” he grunted.

“Why?”

The woman interrupted her son, “Jon, clearly the man doesn’t want to talk about it.” She looked at Clegane. “I’m sorry.”

He held her gaze and thought about this. So many years had passed since he had first become The Hound, and so many who had known him for who he was had died. The myth and mystique most certainly had died off. Sometimes he wondered if he still was the same man he had been back then. “It doesn’t matter,” he admitted. He turned to the boy again. “Hounds are fierce. They’ll track their prey until they catch them.” Jon’s eyes widened. “And they’re loyal.”

At that there was a barely perceptible change in Seera that he caught out of the corner of his eye: she stiffened, and a vulnerability crept into her face.

“Dogs are cute!” The little girl chimed in helpfully. Jon scolded her, embarrassed. Despite herself Seera snickered and rolled her eyes. Cady seemed confused at the response and protested fitfully, hands on her little hips. Sandor Clegane barked a quick, self-mocking laugh.

“Not this one,” he admitted. He gave her a particularly nasty scowl, and pulled the hair back from the rippling, livid scar that was the side of his face. He had meant to tease her, but Cady responded with tears. Seera gave him an icy stare and soothed her daughter with a hug. He had heard the woman explaining to the children earlier that the scar was a burn and that it was not their business to ask him about it. They had plenty of questions for her, but respected their mother by not asking him. Though he had frightened, both purposefully and by accident, many children over the course of his life, he rarely felt bad about it. Today he did. He opened his mouth to say something, but had no idea what. Seera looked at him, registered his discomfort: it wasn’t exactly regret, but she figured it was the closest he was likely to come.

“Cady, stop your fuss. You’ve made your point,” she scolded. “She’s tired,” she added to Clegane.

“He’s scary!” she wailed.

“No, he’s not.” Clegane raised his brow at that. He was fairly sure that he _was_ scary to most people, yet this woman portrayed a sense of confidence and toughness that made him believe her. “He was just teasing, so stop your playacting.”

The boy chimed in: “You _did_ just say he was cute.” Seera snickered again.

“No, I didn’t!” Cady protested.

“Yes, you did!” Jon teased. They volleyed back and forth until Seera snapped angrily at them, ordering them to finish their dinner in silence. She looked apologetically at the clearly baffled man across from her. As soon as they finished, she excused herself and took them off to bed.

Clegane looked askance at the farmer who had been watching silently from the corner of the room. How long had he been witnessing this ridiculous tableau? “I’ll need another drink,” Clegane demanded. Maybe several, he thought. How drunk could he be and still do this job?

*****

Three days later and they were in the middle of nowhere. Any sense of government and order had died in these lands long before the deepest Winter had settled in. As the clans had battled for the Iron Throne, the provincial territories had suffered: first they lost their fighting men, then their castellans, then what meager riches they possessed. The freeze had only solidified the hardship. And it had been a long Winter; millions had died throughout Westeros. The few that remained were scared, traumatized, hardened. In areas like this, where no one had anything to lose, thieves and murderers prowled, knowing there was no safe keep or even a decent inn to protect the migrants who sought out the warmer and less-ravaged South. It was for country like this that The Hound was hired.

He had sternly warned the party about noise, especially Cady. Seera was good at listening to his travelling advice, if not his parenting advice, and did her best to keep the children as silent as possible. The silence and the boredom quickly took their toll on the little ones, though, and they were restless and grumpy.

“How long before we can relax a bit more?” Seera asked.

“Nearly a week,” Clegane answered.

“I’m not sure they can last that long, but we’ll certainly do our best.” He nodded at her.

They stopped a bit later to spell the horses and stretch their legs. He had chosen the spot wisely—high ground, with little to block their view of the surrounding areas—and there was a small pond and stream which the children were eagerly investigating.

“They shouldn’t be out here, making this trip.”

Seera briefly averted her ever-watchful eyes from the children to the big man. “I know, but we had no choice,” she stated.

“Where’s their rich Hightower father? He should be looking after them,” he snarled. “Is he dead?”

“No. He abandoned us three years ago.” Her voice was flat and she had returned her eyes to her children, who were excitedly lifting stones in search of bugs and salamanders. “He found religion, the lure of the Red God, to be much more interesting than his own family and wandered off on some damned crusade.”

“Sounds like an asshole.”

She turned to him and, for once, smiled warmly. “Yep.” Their eyes met, and as was usual for her there was no fear in them. Since he had met her a few days ago he had secretly marveled that she had never turned her eyes from him in disgust or fear; she looked upon him as she did everyone else. It unnerved him. He looked away.

Sure there had been others over the years who looked him in the eye (even if they had to crane their necks to do so), but there was usually a sense of superiority or disdain: he thought of the Lannisters, or even of the old bitch who had hired him for this job. She clearly had no respect for him other than his abilities as a mercenary. He wondered at who Seera was, why she seemed different, but he wasn’t the type to ask.

*****

He heard the child’s scream, loud and shrill. He wasn’t sure which one it was, Jon or Cady, but he was certain that it was a scream of terror. Someone or something had come to the camp. He dropped the firewood he had been collecting and ran, long, powerful strides, back through the trees toward the fire.

Seera stood like a wildcat--legs poised to pounce, teeth bared, and eyes flashing--before her cowering children who were backed up against the tent. The Hound assessed the situation quickly: three men were closing in on her, two in front and one beginning to circle from the left. They were lean, ragged, with the wild and cruel look of desperation on their faces. Each clutched a blade, though only one would count as an actual sword. The one with the sword stood lunged toward Seera, though he held the blade down and away from her. She bit at the bait, and pounced at him. Clegane was quite sure, judging by the look in her eyes, that she would gladly tear the man’s throat out with her bare hands. But it was just a feint on the thug’s part, and his partner who had been on the left stepped in and grabbed the boy who fought and twisted like a viper.

The Hound broke into the campsite with a roar and swung his broadsword down in a fierce arc at the man who held Jon, cleaving his skull all the way down to his shoulders. Blood spurted over the family, and Jon lay where he was dropped, dazed and staring. Cady was screaming like a demon, but Clegane didn’t hear it. He turned to deal with the other two men and was unsurprised to see that the one with the sword now held Seera captive.

“You’re fucked, so let her go,” his voice was a low growl. The man staggered back, still holding the wide-eyed woman. He lifted the sword up threateningly, but he was clearly shaken and weakened.

“I’ll hurt her,” he stammered.

Clegane’s voice was calm. “Go ahead.” The man raised his sword higher, pointing toward Seera’s long neck. There was a look in her eyes that made Clegane think she might do something stupid, something brave, at any second. He caught her stare and looked steadily back, spoke again. “I’m going to kill you anyway. If you kill her, I’ll just take my time doing it.”

The man relaxed his grip on Seera’s arm, perhaps without even realizing he was doing it, and she twisted away suddenly, diving toward her children. The Hound took two long strides and plunged his sword through the man’s guts all the way up to the hilt, driving him back, back away from the weeping children. When he was out of the immediate circle of the firelight, he shoved the corpse from his sword and strode off to meet the hastily retreating third man. Within a minute the man’s screams could be heard from the darkness.

Clegane returned to the camp to find Seera cradling her children to her, Jon still pale as a ghost under the vivid scarlet that streamed down his face. Cady had stopped screaming but was wailing, “Mommy, mommy!” over and over. Seera met his gaze and then stared at the oozing corpse beside the tent. “Get it out of here!” she hissed.

He nodded and began the gruesome cleanup. “It’s too late to move camp,” he told her. She understood, but everyone knew that it would be a restless night.

When he crawled into the tent late that night, Seera was still awake, her eyes shining in the flash of firelight through the open tent flap. The two children were curled against her, passed out, exhausted from a long day of travel and an emotional night, and her arms encircled them protectively. “Sandor?” she whispered. He was startled by her use of his first name. No one had called him by it in a long time, and from the start of the journey she had always been very formal with him despite the children lapsing into calling him The Hound. “Thank you.”

“Get some sleep.” He lay there in the dark, waiting for her breathing to slow and deepen. Only when he knew she slept did he allow himself to rest.

The next morning was bitter cold with a low cloud cover and the threat of rain.  Clegane awoke to an empty tent that still smelled of the blood from his clothes.  He emerged and seeing no one near he immediately returned to grab his sword.

“Seera!” he called out.  He heard footsteps in the trees beyond the camp.

“We’re here!” she called back, and he breathed a sigh of relief.  Her tall figure soon materialized from the wood with two smaller forms behind her.  “We were getting some wood,” she explained.  “The fire has died, and the children didn’t want to be left alone here.” He recalled ruefully his attempt to gather surplus firewood last night.  Seera regarded the sword he still held poised for action.  “We’re okay,” she assured him.  He lowered the weapon.

They all began the mundane and quiet tasks of the morning:  building the fire, preparing some food, washing up.  Despite Seera’s best attempts to scrub the blood off herself and her children last night, despite his own attempts to dispose of the grimmest remnants of the first corpse, there was still the tell-tale splash of dark stickiness upon the side of the tent, the ants that swarmed upon some grisly bit or droplet on the ground.  Cady had recovered considerably from last night, but she was noticeably subdued and quiet.  Jon was ashen.

“Boy,” Clegane called to him.  Jon lifted his head listlessly and stared at him from dead eyes.  “Come here.”

Jon stepped slowly, cautiously toward the big man who crouched across the fire from him, his freshly scrubbed armor put aside.  Clegane studied the lad, eye to eye; Jon looked back at him with sadness and fear etched in his green eyes.  Clegane reached up clumsily and put his massive hands on the boy’s small shoulders.  “There now,” he assured him in his gruff voice, “You’re alright.  You’re safe.”

Jon thrust himself toward the warrior and circled his arms around his neck.  The Hound was stock still, confused.  At last he allowed himself to return the hug.

Cady, not wanting to be left out of anything, rushed over to join in, pouncing upon the man and knocking the three of them over into the dirt.  “All right, all right, you little monsters!  Get off of me and go finish your breakfasts!”

They released him and though still shaken and quiet, the children looked more alive…more trusting.  Seera smiled in gratitude at Clegane but said nothing.

*****

               

The next several days were peaceful enough.  The cold rain persisted, but they met with no further threat.  The children remained more subdued than before the attack, but overall they were more comfortable with the big man who had rescued them.  Jon followed him around like a puppy whenever they stopped and was eager to volunteer his help with any tasks The Hound undertook.  Although he usually rode his own pony now—Clegane had insisted he learn to ride better—he always kept the little gray trotting alongside the man’s big charger.  Cady still preferred her mother’s company, but as each evening settled she chattered happily at him and tried to pull him into little games she concocted.  These he would not participate in, but he was a patient audience to her capers.  Seera herself had warmed somewhat to the man, as well.  She smiled more often at him and scolded him less for his rough manners and rude language.  However, she looked drawn, exhausted, with deep pits beneath her eyes.

*****

               

“You look like shit,” he observed.  She raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a sardonic look.  “You haven’t been sleeping,” he added.  She sighed heavily and nodded.

“Not well, no,” she agreed.  She laughed: a forced laugh.  “Tent life is not agreeing with me.”  She had the tendency to make light of things, and he knew it was more than the cold and the hard ground that was bothering her.  But she was stubborn (being the king of stubborn he recognized it well), so he figured it was useless to ask.

“There’s no other place to stay for the next couple of days.  Anything resembling shelter attracts other people.  You’ve already met some of the local cunts.”  Her eyes flashed but she said nothing.  He could tell that for once it wasn’t his language that provoked her.  She’s afraid.  He could tell she’d never admit it, and he had to say that she put on a damn brave face compared to most women he’d met.  They rode on in silence for a while.  At last he said, “You know I’ll protect you.”

She sighed audibly and looked at him.  “Sandor, it’s not me I’m worried about.”  Cady, perched on the saddle before her peered up at him with her large blue eyes.  He couldn’t help but smile slightly at the little girl.  He nodded at Seera and they rode on quietly through the wasteland that was Westeros.

 


End file.
